


No Power

by panigales



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, Power Outage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 14:31:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16704280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panigales/pseuds/panigales
Summary: In which, the boys have a power outage different to the one they’re usually accustomed to. Jenson receives those infamous words with much more joy than usual, Fernando much less so. It’s a tale set in those dark, dark, Honda days, with significantly less emotional pain for all involved.





	No Power

A crackling pop, and the apartment is plunged into darkness. From his comfortable position sprawled across the couch, Jenson sighs, a long exhale of breath that was, for the briefest moment, the only thing that disturbed the silence of the night. And then – from within the void, a Spanish-accented voice starts shouting.

“No power! No power _and it’s not even race weekend!_ ”

“Well, that’s not something we hear every day,” Jenson calls back cheerily, hopping up with a bit more enthusiasm than those particular words warranted. Then again, he’d prefer this much more than DNF’s every second race.

“Is not funny, Jenson,” Fernando says, his voice sounding closer now. “Can a man never escape from Honda and reliability issues?”

Jenson winces as a loud bang echoes through the darkness, followed by yet another string of curses. “Are you alright there, mate?”

“Yes, yes, the big toe might not be though!”

“Right,” Jenson laughs, “just follow my voice.” He warily makes his way into the kitchen, slowly feeling his way through the darkness, opening and closing cabinet doors until he’d found a sufficient amount of scented candles and matches. Fernando never was a fan of those things, he’d noticed, but maybe tonight would change the Spaniard’s opinion.

Placing his load on the kitchen countertop, Jenson fumbles with the tiny box of matches, snapping a few in a couple of failed attempts before finally producing a tiny flame on the end of the wooden stick. He touches the fragile flame to the wick, and the fire splutters into life and illuminates the darkness. _Now that’s what I’m talking about._

He walks back through to the living room with decidedly less fear of stubbed toes and trip hazards. He sets down his load down on the polished glass of the coffee table just as Fernando stumbles in, a look of pure relief on his face as he spots the light source.

“Good to see you’ve made it here in one piece,” Jenson says.

“Barely, my friend. I’m missing at least two of my toes, I think.”

“Oh don’t be so dramatic.” Jenson pulls his phone out of his pocket, before heaving a weary sigh.

“Bugger, my phone just died.” He tosses the now-useless thing carelessly onto the carpeted floor. It’s snatched up by the darkness in a heartbeat, instantly disappearing from view.

Fernando pulls his out of his back pocket, and promptly grimaces when the display lights up. “20 percent. First the cars, then the apartment, now the phones! What is this madness?!”

“Well, damn. Time to bust out the good ol’ Uno, eh?”

Fernando flops down onto the soft carpet in defeat, throwing an arm over his eyes as if he couldn’t bear to look upon the world anymore. “No way, I never win when we play.”

“Aha, someone’s a sore loser!” Jenson sits down beside his fallen teammate, leaning against the back of the couch. Fernando sits up properly and looks him straight in the eye. “Jenson, I swear I will burn every single one of those damn cards along with your beloved scented candles. Destroying both cards and candles. No kidding.”

Jenson holds up his hands in surrender, an amused smile on his face. “You’re a monster, Alonso.” His grin widens as Fernando half-heartedly flips him off with one hand.

“Okay, no Uno, no board games, no power – now what?”

“Uh… we sleep?” Fernando proposes hopefully.

“It’s too early for sleep! I can’t sleep!” Jenson pauses, thinking for a moment. “Let’s make a pillow fort!”

Fernando snorts loudly. “What are you, five?”

“Six and a half, actually!” Jenson beams in the manner of a proud child boasting of their superior age to their friends. “Come on, no one’s too old for pillow forts.” Jenson tugs at his reluctant teammate’s arm, almost as insistent as a six-year-old himself before Fernando finally gives in.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming.”

***

The two McLaren drivers sit in the semidarkness, underneath the canopy of blankets held up by dining room chairs. There’s barely enough room for the pair to fit comfortably in the tiny space; their too-long legs are pulled up close to their chests.

“That was surprisingly fun.” Fernando finally admits. 

Jenson grins widely. “Told you so, my friend.”

“What now?”

“ _Now_ we sleep.” Jenson takes the vanilla-scented candle –placed dangerously close to the blanket canopy– and blows it out. They had barely closed their eyes for a minute when, with another crackling pop, the power comes back on. All was quiet for a moment, before; “ _Are. You. Serious!?!?!_ ”

Tears of exasperation fill Fernando’s eyes, as tears of laughter filled Jenson’s. Neither of them end up getting much sleep that night.


End file.
